Disconsolate
by CoreOfADoll
Summary: Ever imagined, what it'd feel like having to undergo the well-known superiority, significance glory and high eminence of a Thalmor? Well, dear friend, that sort of thing is exactly what's capable of masking it all. -Compilations of nineteen year old Seron, Altmer by birth, of what would happen throughout certain points of the 4E.
1. 1 Minute - 1 Second

**(4E 171 - 4E 175)**

_'Great War - Siege of Cyrodil & Hordes of Daedra'_

A foul stench remained in the air, effortlessly caressing against his slender nose ever so heavily, only now bringing more pique feelings to bubble within his raw and clogged-dry throat. Incessant, blasting air-currents ceaselessly grazed at the sides of his hood, in which fully concealed his fine, pointed elven ears. Red, griming dust assaulted his perfect vision, momentarily blinding him in doing so. Seron, however, still managed in holding deep concentration, straining his amber eyes directly placed along the no longer bright and tranquil sky, but now a cracked and red-hazed one that filled with lines of gleaming elven arrows, dolefully observing as it failed to pierce even a single piece of chest armour or skin that belonged to the filth-filled Imperials, and creatures of all sorts emerging from the endlessly-raising oblivion gates. His stomach only clenched tighter with each passing second.

By now, somewhat false assumptions have already been made. Not even gods themselves could take down these supernatural entities. Now it seems he was more than right after all, more and more only began issuing in the dozens. Rueful, yet abrading feelings began to immediately kick in and replace his once perverse and capricious one. How he despised to admit it, admit his own mistakes, but that was yet another inaccurate shot.

-Ninth, to be exact, and yes, he's counted. Something as minor as that, or from as how the humans saw it, already seemed to kill and chuck his hopes off to the side all over again. Seron only soon came to be disheartened. He was such a fool compared to his colleagues. Unlike him, his fellow elves that fought alongside seemed to easily take a single life after another with a mere slice of their sword, or with a mere fire of their flames.-and that didn't count the high mages. Blindly charging throughout what seems to be a good set of five-thousand, even managing to obliterate about more than fifty beasts and humans, nothing seemed to console him, at least, not anymore.

Why is it that he was suddenly so unsuitable and incapable of such a simple thing? Why is it that he could no longer grasp and collect him out of the dust, back into the blazing sunlight once more? Why is it that held deep within his heart.. no longer was there a goal?

A goal to _follow_. A goal to _lead_. A goal to _remain_.

That would be like a lute without strings, a bard without a voice, and a sword without sharp edges. No longer did it make sense. If he was once capable of it, why wasn't he able to achieve it again? Even if he is nineteen for heaven's sake, forced into submission against his will, to fight and represent at a youthful age in order to please his elders who have once done the same within their own youth, still barely even able to maintain and exchange small talk with a woman without lightly fidgeting every now and then. Despite lacking in the whole lovey-dovey nonsense, a man like Seron makes up for it in wits, skills, composition, looks.. Oh, and the list goes on.

Now he was only beginning to baffle himself.

Although there was still only a single thing he could be certain of. Now was definitely not the time to question himself. Now was definitely not the time to lose. Even with the full unfortunate blast the gods sent him, Seron remained in high hopes, nearly struggling to maintain his high and indignant self as he fearlessly fought through hordes of daedra. Yet inwardly, throughout all of it, he was afraid. He was _always, _afraid. All Seron could really yearn and pray for now, would be the glorious feeling of inevitable victory. If not, then may the gods take a liking in his sword blasted up their throats. He has nothing to lose, or so he's fully convinced.

* * *

_Mixed effort of what would be both the great war, interrupted by oblivion gates-(Which were supposedly closed off, forever). _


	2. 2 Minutes - 1 Second

**(4E 201)**

_Summerset Isles - Alinor, Council House_

Seron peeled his glowing amber eyes away from his superior's, unable to face his lordship with the unbearable humiliation searing deep within him. Even so, he didn't dare think twice on departing and backing down from his elder, and so he could only hang his head in nothing, but mere shame, even within his fellow colleagues' high and inspiring presence, Justiciar, in that matter. "How quaint, you've only been proven to be nothing, but so far a great disappoint to our council. The fact that Elenwen even bothered enlisting one such as yourself to convey service, amazes me. How old are you again?"

_Not like it was in my utmost desires.._

Eyes averting, Seron spoke up with little hesitation, or so he assumed. "Nineteen.. your lordship." Barely finishing his response, his sensitive and keen ears instantly picked up incoherent whispers and low sneers from a few colleagues, in which remained standing behind him for whatever reasons he obtains no knowledge on. His chest shakily lifted in exasperation, vaguely acting as if he never heard from them in the first place, or even possibly regarded their presence. Ceasing the restless sweeping of his vision, his eyes immediately returned, diverting back up to the subdued council before him, feeling more inferior than ever. "-And wizard too! Do you realize how laughable that matter is to your fellow colleagues? Have you even any knowledge on magic at all?" The raise in his elder's tone allowed a queasy feeling to physically show up on Seron's wavering movements, through and through. "Y-Yes, I've actually done much overview over my studies throughout the years, I still do! I've even-"

"-Exceptional, but not great. You don't even strain to discipline yourself, do you, dear boy?"

The entire room seemed to quiver in fear itself over his insult, forced to take in every bit of it. Seron laid off, taken aback by the abrupt judgment, in which showed no fair use of his abilities. He was tempted, terribly tempted to raise his inert spirits and finally speak up for himself. Even this, and this alone, was enough to provoke him. "-Forgive me, your_ lordship,_ but I don't think you see the main point here. It was Elenwen's decisions to make use of me, and her decisions alone." A smirk of faked professionalism, rather insulting even, played at the sides of his lips, almost suggestively. "Well, then, I suppose letting Elenwen take up on your lack of cooperation and lack of judgment could only benefit her supremacy-"

The elder stood up in an instant, bringing down his fists upon the table, all the while allowing a sudden leap of fear to struck every living body's core. "-Enough!" It didn't take him long to realize what he had just done, he'd gone too far. Gods. The two Thalmor soldiers appointed from behind him immediately leapt into action with little hesitation, instantly stepping up and grasping a firm hold on either sides of Seron. "You," Fortunately, the elder managed to contain his next and final words with a long, weary sigh, in which filled every single ear that belonged to the council. "Prepare a carriage. We're addressing him to the Thalmor Embassy, located in Skyrim." Seron managed in holding off his infuriated distress, deigning for the first time raise his eyes up at the Elder. "If he desires to, then let him be. We'll conjure up the best of our abilities to assist this little.. Justiciar, or amateur, I mean, on his path." With a commanding notion of his eyes, the soldiers restraining him instantly nodded in obedience and prepared to haul Seron away, only to stop with last words interfering their job. "-but if he fails to meet the required expectations, on any circumstances.." The young elf glanced back, heeding on momentarily. "Don't hesitate in letting him suffer on."

The final words seemed to slap Seron straight in the face as he was forcefully hauled out, restrained limb by limb. His vision stirred in exhaustion with his aching eyes meeting the paining daylight, in which combined and blended alongside with multicolored, beaming lights that filtered down from the colored glass windows of the stone towers above, draping the cobblestone street in a thousand vibrant colors. All of it, however, only soon vanished from sight as he entered the carriage that was apparently awaiting outside. Without a spared moment to fix himself into a more comfortable position, the carriage already shook violently, starting forward against the rubble, breaking him off his stream of thoughts. Now regaining his senses, his mind remained well-regarded on a single thought, and a single thought only.

_To Skyrim._

* * *

_All this effort I'm straining out of myself is all out of the motivation **Suilaid **has given me. Big thanks to you bud, don't know how I could've achieved all this without your words of encouragement. You're a big inspiration to me, so don't fall on yourself anytime soon.-Or my hopes shall forever be crushed. Thank you._


	3. 2 Minutes - 2 Seconds

A raw and unsettling crisp percolated through, biting deeply within Seron's elven bones as he shifted, rather uncomfortably, his back straining from remaining still for far too long. Yet another reason of why he eminently loathed long trips. Something like this truly did prove to be quite a nuisance. Sparsely jerking his head to the side, Seron pensively gazed out from the carriage's window, nearly struggling to alter his focus under the flaring morning rays of daylight. He attentively took in upon the blinding, yet perplexing scenery.

Deceased, wilted petals of the Deathbells, in which were lavishly glazed with gleaming particles of snow and such, brought an almost deranging feeling amidst both him and his colleagues. A few other flowers alongside, however, astonishingly appeared to be quite healthy, vibrant, and abundant, unlike it's withering neighbors. Ample pine trees filled the mesmerizing landscape and stood high, ranging along the vast area within the rest of it was ravishing, marvelous to elven eyes, at least, within his own ones. Sharp, elevating peaks of snow-capped mountains seemed to practically direct straight into the heavens itself. An extraordinary illusion. "Fascinating.." His reserved murmur only seemed to arouse the attention of three other high wizards within his carriage, whom which appeared to emerged out of nowhere. Seron, on the other hand, remained oblivious to their demeaning stares. A scoffing momentarily followed off.

"-More like a blinding eyesore. There's bound to be a blizzard sometime later on, but one can only assume." A weary sigh. "Seron, correct?"

In an instant, Seron wrenched his debilitated eyes from the window, settling it upon another colleague, in which promptly acted upon expression-transitioning. A displeased one, in that matter. "Come again?"

"-Pardon?"

The slightly older wizard exchanged a contemning gaze, clearly belittling Seron and of what he's worth. Seron blinked, warily leaning back. "I'm sorry, when did you arrive?"

"Crack of dawn, when did you think? Just moments after you were so remorselessly thrown in here. Oh, or was it that you were asleep, and must I say, snoring rather noisily on the way here. How disregardful of you, not wreckless, whatsoever." Seron was left in a abashed state. Finally regaining his senses, he spoke up, without a single moment to rehash his impure thoughts. "I apologize, I don't fair well with listening to complaints, especially early in the morning." The wizard's eyes narrowed in offense, now only having his level of resentment raise that much more. An impassioned smirk tugged on the corner of Seron's thin lips, as if he was now the one to deride the wizard. "Oh, and for your information, I don't _snore. _I _breathe.-_And rather lightly too, so take your hearing elsewhere next time if you can't put up with such troubling standards." Barely managing to respond, the carriage jerked in an instant, resulting in the four of them unsteadily bumping nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. A bitter silence ensued shortly afterwards. Peeking out, Seron's pure liquid amber eyes peered out upon a sturdy-built, stone-material buildings that established tidily just off to the side. Demanding calls of order sounded from the carriage's assistance, drawing through the broad stone gates of the Thalmor Embassy. Relief rose back up to the surface, now finally arriving after a rough and troublesome travel. Land such as this one was tough to come through.

Sweltering plumes of breath rose from the two steeds' snouts as a few assisted the horsemen, also extracting the other numerous carriages that followed abaft as well. "The high wizards have just been sent in from Alinor. Quick, notify the mistress, at once." Justiciar, in which were stationed outside, were immediately dispatched from their appointed posts and off to inform Elenwen. A few dozen Altmer exited their carriages at last, revealing the deep, thoroughly refined dark of their robes. Also the only thing that managed in concealing the pure, blinding snow beneath them.

* * *

"Mistress," The soldier instantly bowed as a sign of accounting regards. "The high wizards have been successfully issued from Alinor. They've arrived not too long ago." A previously stifled, half-exasperated sigh released from Elenwen's lips as she promptly rose from her seat. "It's about time." With that, the mistress fleetly started ways towards the exit of her office, a handful of soldiers remaining glued tight at her heels. "Seron, the young wizard I've inquired for.. He's arrived as well?"

The soldier of whom she questioned, fell unprepared from the abrupt question. "Y-Yes, of course, from what I'm assuming.."

"-Well, if it's calculated from mere assumptions. Then surely, you'd know well to never start off with a positive response." Without a single regard of disdain, the soldier instantly nodded in compliance, understanding fully well that it'd be best to follow suit without any complaints under any circumstance.


	4. 2 Minutes - 3 Seconds

"The First Emissary shall be arriving momentarily."

The soldier shifted incessantly from his station, in which stood high and well-placed above the wizards, fidgeting over every little unnecessary concern that seemed to raise aroused within him. Somehow in someway, now actually within the high mages' presence, he could actually feel the massive aberration between the superiority of his and their own rank. Few wizards bothered to cast their demeaning eyes upon the inferior. Majority of them found aggravation in having to appear within this blatant providence in the first place. Raw weather, filth-filled creatures of all sorts, in which held diseases of who knows what. Ah, and the abominable humans. Mainly Nords, for that matter.

Detestable.

Although none of them expected it all to seep in anytime soon. All of what they could really hope for now would be the rapid passing of the eras, and of what they could obtain and achieve from it. To the inferior beings, it was vague matter on whether the elves desired to deliberately assist and direct the alliance into an excelling future, or to designedly persecute the inferior races altogether in order to empower the rest of the nine holds of which still struggle underneath their secure grasp. With ease, with reason, and with the power of the White-Concordat. For now, however, their primary focus consisted of no more, but gradually weakening their pitiless empire into a waning deficiency. Effectiveness, seemed to be the only option standing.

Seron, however, left a rather blind eye to this influential matter. He saw no point in it. No fair use within it either. Scarcely, what were the true intents of his kind? Why bother having to conjure up a war with the proper devise when it'd only cause massive deviation to all of Tamriel? Surely, it couldn't have been within their utmost ambitions. Although if it were to convey their motives of battering up the inferior races in the first place, then he would do no such thing in consider enforcing such an act. His acute mind consistently stirred. Without a doubt, he definitely wasn't too young and naive to even take a moment to rehash his thoughts, and throw it into consideration. Sure, majority of his elven colleagues might as well be older than him by a quite few decades or centuries or so, but regardless, it didn't make them any better from what he's worth. Seron owned equal sophistication, and if any man or mer were to even do so much as convince him otherwise, they'll regret ever stating so. Bottom line is, that of his complete lack of support towards the all-knowing motives of the Thalmor, was unlikely to be altered contrarily.

In truth, he fully nourished all of what the humans had to offer. Along with their reasonable motives, and significance.

All of this had only rooted back to the prejudice that the elves anchored. Both within race, and power. The upshot of his contemplation allowed a vile tasting to spread atop his tongue in an instant. Was that it, then? If anything, no longer was there a single doubt in his mind of so. To think-

His train of thoughts drew to an immediate cease. Instantly, the penetrating pierce of the double doors briskly filled his delicate elven ears. Shifting ever so slightly from his ground, Seron raised his crystal clear vision, directly regarding the First Emissary. Her, and her refined dark robes was sure to send a distinct intimidation to all that heeded her.

* * *

"Seron, was it?"

Another steady nod of accounting regards.

"Yes, my lady."

Right then and there, his veins seemed to burst in apprehension. Of all the wizards, why did she select and distinguish him, and him alone? Already, things were starting to become a great vexation. Although it's not like there was a choice.

_If only.._

Elenwen briefly examined the young bloke, especially eyeing his upper appearance. A pleased sigh dug its way out of her lips, followed by the gradual raise of a refined eyebrow. "Now that you're here, I suppose we can finally get down to business." Seron did only, but observe as the First Emissary led the way to her office. He found himself glued tight to his position, unable to even strain a single muscle into submission. After a considerable amount of seconds, Seron finally budged from his spot and carried forth. A few ways behind Elenwen, his restless vision wandered off to a scatter. With the dragging pace of his steps, he was near in achieving in bumping the other previously stationary Justiciar, of which subsequently ensued from the rear end.

* * *

"So that's it, then? You plan on diminishing the Imperial Empire?"

"Correct."

His eyebrows moderately narrowed, the liquid gold mellow of his eyes promptly straying, only earning a feigning beam from her.

"My, you catch on rather quickly, now don't you? I do suggest against doing so much as questioning my motives, Seron. Feeding remarks will only be proven to stroke you 'til the very last of your breath, without remorse, of course. Now," Elenwen leisurely advanced a single step closer, blandly guiding her slender fingers over the small buckles upon the chest of his Thalmor robes, brushing off even the slightest of thread before breathing on. "enough of the trifling squabbles. I didn't arrange the selective picks for no certain reason. I have something to inquire of you, you see. A certain.. _pursuit._"

"Pursuit? Of whom?"

On cue, a devious yet subtle smile played at the corners of her lips. "Who else, but the dragonborn himself?"

His pulse wavered, muscle tensing. "Dragonborn?"

"Yes, I'll state it once more if necessary. The _dragonborn. _This all sums up to of what I inquire out of you, but a single request. You see, the only way in completely deducting the unwavering competence of this particular dragonborn is through discrete execution, and you just so happen to be selected suitable for the job. Not only will this exceedingly benefit our political gains, but it will also boost your status in our prosperous society, and yet is to be rewarded."

His breath hitched.

It was all too evident. The persuasion, the satisfying aspirations. They were all too much to even take into account. In spite of so, there was yet to be a contrary choice. Seron had no other decision, but to comply to the First Emissary's perverse demands. More of as arbitrary, rather. "Consider it done." He didn't even do so much as stifle his response before crack opening his lips. His expression now seared with stewing anticipation, and his lips adorning a well practiced smile. There was much to demonstrate, and to establish from.


	5. 2 Minutes - 4 Seconds

Eyes raising, Seron examined the evening's high overcast, steadily averting his liquid amber eyes down upon the dense snow before him. His palm lifted from his side, entering the liberal span of his acute vision. As if naturally, a beating fire flickered from the small of his palm, enveloping into a fierce one as it licked at the air in surround.

"Our whereabouts, Tunille?" Seron breathed, remaining still as the whipping anger within his palm inverted, altering into a throbbing current of electricity as it emitted a strong azure haze. The four deployed Justiciar adorned in gold grounded at the tail of their leading Justiciar, of whom was the young elf that stood before them. It was said that he's deployed from the Isles not too recently, and if remembered correctly, he's new, no less. The soldiers tentatively exchanged a disapproving glance at one another. Allowing this amateur to be the anchoring palm of this little troupe was a doing none of them had endorsed. Regardless, they didn't have any other choice, but to do as was assigned by the commands of the First Emissary.

"Well?"

Tunille, shaken from his troubled trance, promptly cleared his throat, his fingers elevating off from the upper hilt of the elven sword that strapped to his hip. The map slid out from the elf's side, rolling open as Tunille surveyed the markings and holds that were imprinted within.

A brief pausing followed, momentarily as Tunille took his precious time studying the map's details.

"Yes, er, sir. Southeast, just a morning's away from Solitude." That said, his eyes found itself peeking over the map, eyeing the back of Seron's hood.

"That so? Might I ask, but exactly how long will it take for us to reach our-" A brief delay issued, Seron smirked. "Least _my,_ designated destination, Markarth?"

The soldier casted a castigating gaze, lowering his map from the following response, the fading mellow of his green eyes questioning. "Markarth? Why-" Tunille's words came to an instant halt after eyes met with the disapproving ones of his fellow soldiers. _'Do not question the leading command. Don't even consider so for one moment.' _Tunille winced from the words stated by the First Emissary herself. No way was he going to look up on the consequences of her supremacy, and acting otherwise may just settle for the worse. His map raised, once more as he deducted the following routes that may be possibly taken to Seron's favor, and of reaching the hold.

"According to my calculations, it'd be least three days estimate if traveled along the roads off Morthal, sir. Less than few bandits to be encountered, trifling with official business. Or the ill-favored route, hiked upon the mountains and roaming dangers of possibly trolls or other dour threats. That, however, will only consume more than the days settled for. All to your liking, sir."

The finishing response almost allowed a scoffing to rise from Seron's lips. Without turning, he extinguished out the consuming energy within his palm and tugged at his wrist, fixing both hems of the gloves. "Well, which route do you prefer, then, Tunille? Through the mountains, a prolonged journey that could possibly kill you, and your colleagues.. Or, the more shorter, safer, and preferably route that doesn't need questioning, evidently?"

Tunille's chest unsteadily barreled from the put down, abashed from Seron's response. Seemingly, age didn't matter anymore. Just of that he lacked in the apparent. A mumbling returned from him, "Suppose I'd settle for the safer route, sir."

"Thought so, and regarding my designated destination is that of visiting a superior member." Eyes narrowing admist ponder, Seron pursed his lips. "Ondolemar, was it?"

"Correct, sir."

"As informed, I believe he resides within the Understone Keep. A date is in order, to be attended. My intentions consist of first discussing certain matters regarding our target. Rather than hastily striking upon a blind pursuit of the Dragonborn, and I'm suspecting Ondolemar will perhaps know more regarding so. If we're lucky, he will."

The others refrained themselves from exchanging chiding glances, but rather, found themselves agreeing with the juvenile elf that discussed initiation before them. Without question, the soldiers promptly followed suit, ensuing from Seron's rear end. Their refined silhouettes gradually dimmed as they departed off into the frigid, unwelcoming bitterness of the harsh land.

* * *

_Days Later._

_Markarth - Silver-Blood Inn_

"Back again, elf? Figured you'd be driven off and out by all the hostility you're receiving around here. The detestation not enough, I'm assuming. Here for a last drink, perhaps?"

The steady crackling of the hearthfire sounded on, also emitting a pleasantly tepid glow within the inn itself. All of it followed by the monotonous scraping of Hroki's broom, cluttering of tableware, and reserved chatter amongst the ones of which resided within the reposing inn. Calnian ran a hand through his golden hair, gently tousling the smooth strands as he ever so moderately diverted his vision over to the aged man behind the bar, the fade in the golden mellow of his eyes clearly displayed vexation that sent piqued feelings to spume within his stomach. "Mind yourself, will you? I've heard enough, just pass me whatever. I'm not in the state, nor condition to regard your feeble remarks." He rested his elbow down against the bar table, the other clasping his forehead that had rendered visibly with beading sweat.

"Suspected as much, and pass you what, exactly?"

"-Mead. Just enough to make me forget my problems, alright? It's midnight, anyway. What other better way to fall asleep than drinking off my problems? Might not be such a big deal, for this'll only be the second time I've submitted myself into an act as pathetic as this."

"You sure about this? If you've done this once, you should know of the paining aftermath once you wake up."

The elf didn't even do so much as even bother in considering otherwise. Apprehension had already long consumed him and his pride, least for the time being. His eyelids remained shut tight, eyes slightly narrowing from a migraine. "I'm well aware, thank you."

Kleppr steadily eyed the young bloke with a hint of concern, only to soon return a curt nod in response and leaned down. He surveyed shelf after shelf, brand after brand, and briefly paused, contemplating before reaching for the two bottles off the lowest bottom shelf. Setting it down before Calnian, Kleppr sent yet another look of concern. "Black-Briar Mead. Figured I'd give you the finest before your departure. A single bottle of this brand alone will take quite a toll on you. Speak to me again once you've managed in consuming the first two. We'll see if I can distribute a third."

"Oh, don't you worry about me. So long as I can pay. I have the gold, don't I?" Calnian seemed to chuckle to himself, grasping the first bottle before hastily uncorking it. Head tilted back, a prolonging sip followed. Then another, and another, and yet another.

"Just don't want you coming in here a third time appearing as if a lass just dumped your sorry self."

Another chuckle, more lulling this time. "You're.. very funny, you know that? I've yet to even do so much as properly speak with a woman, least I'd have a better chance than you of picking up any harlot around these damned corners. Not like none of them can resist such a fine bred mer such as myself. It'd be questioning for them _not _to want to bed with me, don't you think?" The effects were shown through and through within his 'well-thought-out' responses. Calnian raised the bottle again, although this time, washing down nearly all of the remaining mead before continuing. "Those, however, are the least of my concerns. I have a long way to go, unlike you, a human. Haha! All of you are the same, like seasons that come and go. Cities that bloom, only to scorch away under the summer sun."

Kleppr expressed no particular reaction towards that. Instead, he smiled charmingly. He had already known well that the lad definitely didn't feel this way. Must've been the Altmer blood in him speaking, proud and haughty. That, or the alcohol talking. Otherwise, he wouldn't have so racially slurred on regarding so.

The deluded elf sighed with amusement, his smell now possessed a heavy stench of alcohol as he started the process over with the second bottle. His grip on the bottle moderately alleviating with sip after sip, head perpetually pounding minute after minute. It felt as if a steel hammer had just brutally bashed his head in more than several times. The pain swelled to his eyes. Although as of right now, all the elf could regard was delightful taste with each coming swig, his grin deranging.

"Y-You know.. I've always wondered what it is about bards singing the same besotted songs repeatedly. I mean.. Don't they get tired? Ha! Know I'd be.."

Even within the smooth firm of Calnian's tone, the faint burnout was easily sensed. Kleppr studied the beaten young Altmer that sat languid before him, of which clearly lacked in fatigue. Both mentally, and physically. The man only soon shook his head in disapproval, his eyes then averting back down to the counter."What'd I tell ya? You've only taken a couple first sips and yet already, the effects have taken quite a toll upon yourself." Kleppr smirked, a dirty rag now within his coarse palm as he began wiping the bar table. "You know, for an elf that's generally solid and composed, I'd never think I'd see you in such a debilitated state.

His eyes then diverted over off to the side of Calnian's elbow, the elf's rusted iron helm catching his vision. It appeared that a horn had splitted, as if recently so due to the sharp edges that have yet to wear off. With that said, Calnian only delivered an exhausted, but condemning gaze, resulting in the raise of Kleppr's eyebrow. "What? Best to vent, don't you think? Whatever the matter may be, tell me. Why do you come here appearing as you do, dear boy? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Calnian responded with an inaudible scoff, clearly mock with lack of virtue. "I do, mind."

Still wiping the grime from the bar table, Kleppr's movements only soon came to an abrupt halt, his lips twisted up with amusement.

"Again, suspected as much."


	6. 2 Minutes - 5 Seconds

"Mmm.."

Calnian sparsely grunted, shifting as his muscular frame settled rather reposingly against the seat of the bar. The side of his head, however, lay languid against the bar table, one arm slack off his side, with the other positioned upon the bar table. His golden fingers ghostly clutched around the seventh bottle that had already been emptied out. With a sniff, Calnian's lips parted slightly, his tousled hair sticking to the sweat of which beaded upon his forehead. The steady melody of the lute filled Calnian's elven ears, enlightening to the delusions within the suspension of his consciousness. Although the environment of his delightful dreams only soon caved in, transitioning into a rending world of bleak desolation the moment an unpleasant male vocal followed suit to the melody.

His ruminations moderately distorted, both from a collision of tranquil serenity and of incessant, troubling disruptions. The male bard continued on, although the contribution of his company had proven to be extremely redundant. A handful have even stood up, determining to retire from the inn as the lad resumed, his presence clearly unwanted from the patrons. If any singing were to be expressed, it'd most definitely be preferred pleasant and steady. This young bloke, however, expressed otherwise. His lack of experience became evident. An uncertified bard, perhaps? May just be so.

_And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!_

Hroki exchanged an exasperated glance to her brother, Hreinn, briefly before proceeding to sweep elsewhere. Finishing so, she departed the inn, taking in the crisp early morning air.

_But this land is ours, and we'll see it wiped clean._

The innkeeper peeped over his shoulder, catching glimpse of his wife as she mouthed out 'Call him out, now. He's driving out our customers!' Kleppr scoffed, averting his eyes in disregards of his troublesome wife.

_Of this scourge that has sullied, our hopes and our dreams._

Most bards had generally been known to come and go as they please, so none really had a say on a matter regarding so. Not like these reluctant bums would've even done so much as bothered putting it into consideration. Eyes still clamped shut, Calnian released a displeasing grunt from his lips, his ill state still questioning whether it was life or not. The bard incessantly sang on, his voice dreading to the patrons, and resulted in only bringing back the hammering headache of which battered in Calnian's head.

It didn't take long for the elf to abruptly stir from his deep daze, considering another brief grunting to end off. His heavy eyelids weighed down on him, refusing to even do so much as crack open, and so he slurred. "By the eight, stop with the horrid singing.. It's killing me."

The bard, apparently managing in overhearing the incoherent mumblings from the drunk, finally set a cease to his playing. The melody had been cut short.

"Pardon?"

"Mmm.." Calnian shifted once more, his expression transitioning here and there. He sniffed, resuming with his deluded response. "I know you've always wanted to be a become a bard, Arindir. Although, being the good companion I am, I just want to let you know that talent isn't for everyone." A faint smirk pressed against his lips, the reminiscence of his old friend swimming in his sea of thoughts. Infuriation displayed on the bard's expression, through and through as he was taken aback by the insult that was vaguely expressed by the drunk Altmer. Eyes narrowing, and without a moment to think twice about his next course of action, the fuming bard dropped his lute aside to the floor, allowing a considerable thud to echo throughout the inn. The disruptive noise seemingly aroused every living core, snapping them back to reality. All eyes of which expressed a variety of feelings diverted over to the disturbance, observing the scene as it ensued before their very eyes.

Advancing over towards Calnian, the bard abruptly tugged at the back of the elf's broad shoulder. Feeling the firm of it, even through the cloth of his armor, the bard had honestly expected the worst, in an instant, but persisted on no less."That so, elf? I'd like to hear you say that again!"

Kleppr took a step or so back, deliberately wondering whether or not to intervene. Although with the assumption that of the guards will only soon be notified of the upcoming commotion, he decided otherwise. Bar fights as such, commenced regularly.

With that said, the bard jerked the drunk back to no avail, considering the now enraged elf's immediate reaction. Twitching only a muscle, his arm that had originally drooped slack earlier on now raised, extending - Moderately delivering a solid nudge of his elbow into the Nord's ribs, the impact sending him back and crashing down against the floor. A pleasing crack erupted from so. His eyes tore wide, lips twisting from the unbearable agony. He tensed, briefly planted in his spot as he conjured up the best of his abilities to disregard the pain. "..Damn you." He stammered, wincing as he sat up, propelling himself with an elbow - the other grazing over his chin that lined with crimson, of which discharged just a moment ago from the blow's contact.

Before even earning the chance to gather himself, let alone his thoughts, he had noticed that the warrior had already made way, advancing towards him ever so leisurely. The sight of so infuriated him. "You, an elf. An Altmer, no less! All the talk of sophistication your kind possesses? Please. You may look the part, but you most certainly aren't one." The bard steadily heaved himself up, but it was too late. Calnian leaned over, fisting his collar and staunchly wrenching the lad closer towards himself, their moist faces inches apart.

The immense contrast.

A glow of both white and gold, a display of both anger and degrading, and faces separately composed of disfigured and refined features. Human, to elf.

Least this one.

* * *

"Just about there, yes?"

Tunille, tacitly marched along his fellow colleagues, maintaining a direct, and exceptional distance from Seron. "Yes, sir."

The troupe would've been easily distinguished, even from afar. The soldiers' golden armor glistening a radiant shimmer, and their leading Justiciar, dressed in deep refinement of Thalmor robes, the charming elven features of his face faintly shrouded within his hood. Steadily proceeding to make way across the stone bridge, the waterfall off from afar ran noisily, the incessant currents of it leading to yet another waterfall of which linked off below them. The composed stridency of mother nature filled their sensitive elven ears as they advanced forth, near there to their destination.

The peaked view overhead revealed a towering Dwemer structure. Right then and there, Seron knew that had reached their desired destination. At long last. Once approaching the threshold, Tunille subjected himself to ambling up the stone steps, heaving the colossal doors wide for his troupe - gaining entry. Finally setting foot through the city's entrance, few had instantly regarded the Thalmor's presence, only briefly before returning to their business.

A couple of stares remained directed towards them, composing of either fear or disdain. Perhaps even both. From civilians, pathetic vagrants, and even the blank - voidless faces - from the roaming city guards. Nothing could be concluded from the shadowed slits of their face-covered helmets.

"Tch! What'd I tell ya? More of those damned elves here to tend to _Talos-_knows-what. It's already bad enough we have one of those snotty bastards here, residing within the Understone Keep."

Hroki smiled tentatively over Hogni's remarks, unsure of what to respond with as her lean figure inclined over, elbows upon the clean part of Hogni's meat stall. Her general tavern dress, clad, revealing more than enough length of her thighs, let alone her chest. At the faint, yet audible mention of Talos, one of the trailing Justiciar instantly regarded so. The golden rod immediately inclined his head to the side, his sharp demeaning eyes diverting from his elven helmet, expressing the livid chill most high elves were known to possess.

"Well, " The young lass started, now fenced rigid when entering eye contact with the elven soldier, only to stray, meeting and settling upon a more condemning one from, and needless to say, a rather handsome young wizard. Her sky azure eyes widened, lips parted slightly as she briskly stepped off from the stall, cheeks flushed from embarrassment before turning her back on them. Tensing, Hroki steadily waited until their presence cleared out from the area before promptly smacking the back of Hogni's shoulder, interrupting his incessant working of cutting meat slabs.

"What's wrong with you! Did you really have to say that out loud? Gods, the thought of what might've happened if you'da say it any louder!"

His eyebrows raised, clearly amused rather than having his veins burst in apprehension at the thought. Glancing briefly at Hroki, Hogni chuckled, picking up his sharp tool once more before grinding it down into the thick slabs of meat. "Good, glad they heard. Might make them consider discharging themselves from our city, rather than hauling away heretic, after heretic. Don't be so uptight!"

Hroki stilled, studying the bare top of his head before promptly scoffing, and turning away on her heel. "Well, just you watch. One these days, you'll be hauled away, just for stating such things. No matter how right you may or may not be." Hogni payed no mind to the young lass. Rather, observed as she retreated back into the Silver-blood inn to tend to whatever matter.

* * *

The bard writhed, consistently beneath the elf's - surprisingly - firm, cemented restrain.

Following the situation, Hroki stepped in, witnessing the startling situation before her. No one seemed to take notice of her, for all eyes were upon the matter taking place. "Underestimating me?" Even within questioning, the tad exhaustion in Calnian's tone made his demeaning scorn to the Nord evident. Lightly gasping, Hroki hastened towards the two, coming from behind Calnian and gently tugging at his broad shoulder. "Calnian, what's wrong with you?! Let him go!"

Hroki persisted on, although to no avail as the two men stared each other down in utmost scrutiny.

"Damn you, elf. Why don't you wipe the grime off your face and go do what you do best." He cocked his head to the side, smirking indignantly. "I hear the college of Winterhold takes up on those with magic affinities. That is, if you don't mind your utter incompetence." His eyes averted off to the bar table before he continued on, expressing his point. "And, judging from the exiguous number of bottles knocked over at the bar table over there, I'm suspecting that you can't seem to handle your alcohol, considering your still-dazed state."

The bard's exasperated eyes wandered over to the woman that positioned at his side, now shot wild with amusement. "Surprised you haven't shared a one night stand with miss harlot over here. Don't lie, even an elf can't resist his desires. Just like man, even _you__, _can be submissive to your cravings."

Hroki frowned down upon the bard, taken aback by the insult. Calnian, now regarding so, settled his reproving eyes down upon the shameless Nord. Hreinn studied the situation, drinking in even the slightest of details before noiselessly setting off to notify the guards. Not only this crazy elf, but also for the protection of everyone else of which resided within the inn.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a man. Insulting a woman in such a way, to even consider doing so for one moment." The inn stilled, Calnian swallowing as a moist bead slid down the side of his cheek, his tightened fist raised, knuckles rendered white. "Disgusting."

Not even considering allowing one moment of giving the bard to respond, a brutal blow struck the Nord's cheek, the numbing wave spreading to his entire face, as if a severe plague were to consume. Crunching blows contributed on, one after the next. The bard's face had already swelled long before the restless elf was through, the battered skin meshed and pulverized, seemingly kneaded over the already pounded layers. His nose bridge, sent plating to the side, slightly tilted. Calnian panted, unsteadily as the sweat beaded the line of his golden eyebrow, glistening. His fist drenched, fingers exuding with deep, cherry juices. Expression transitioning grimly, his grimy fist lowered, wrenching the Nord forth once more. "Allow me to ask once more. Do you still, underestimate me?"

No response, as expected. The bard dawdled wordlessly between life and death, his body slack. Pleased with the resulted conditioned of his actions, Calnian inhaled heavily before exhaling.

"I didn't think so."

The scraping screech of the entrance's double doors sent all eyes averting from Calnian, off over to the guards rushing in, unsheathing their weapons.

"By the order of the Jarl, stop right there!"


End file.
